Soiled Souls
by Arabella Thorne
Summary: CHAPTER NINE ADDED: Finally, the sick are moved and Elrond pushes himself too far......and Master Berem pays a visit to the Halls of Healing. The conclusion.
1. Default Chapter

This is another Elrond/Dolengil tale: hope you enjoy!  
  
(I am going to try adding chapters to this: I am a novice at this so I hope it works )  
  
  
  
Arallis Farahin, a second lieutenant in the Gondorian elite guard, stood surveying a nightmare.  
  
He had never expected to see action, outside of marching smartly around the palace. He certainly never expected to see his best friend's head lopped off by a passing orc. But the call to arms had come and every able- bodied soldier responded. And so he and his friends, with their shiny new armor and their bright, sharp sabers, had answered the call.  
  
But, this..Arallis stood gaping at his friend's fallen body. He then promptly got sick, all over his new riding boots.  
  
No one told him war was gritty, dirty, smelly, horrifying.and fatal. War always sounded noble and grand, a perfect place to prove your manhood and impress the ladies at court. His father had always spoken so highly of the boy's ancestors and their great battles. All he heard about was their bravery and their hair's-breadth escapes. Never this.  
  
War was not standing here, two miles outside the city of Minas Tirith, in the midst of unbelievable carnage after a wave of Mordor's own elite, the Black Guard, had swept through his regiment, decimating it like locust in a corn field. Only he and a few others were left standing.  
  
The roar of the passing orcs had dwindled like the sound of the sea heard a mile away. Now a few ragged shreds from the bright banners, previously brave and fearless, flapped in the breeze from broken standards. The sun beat down, making Arallis sweat under his helm. He pulled it off, wincing and wiped a hand across his face. Already carrion birds had drifted down like bits of soot to settle hungry and bold among the dead and dying. Sunlight winked off armor and swords, making Arallis squint.  
  
Looking closer at hand, his fine horse Sallen, lay disemboweled next to his headless friend Manlin. Bright blood leaked everywhere as if spread by an indiscriminate hand.  
  
A "thwing!" cracked the air near Arallis. He had just a moment to see the arrow that hit him with bone jarring force in the upper thigh. The nearby orc who had shot it ran off laughing, pausing only to grab a severed arm from the ground and wave it, shouting. Taking a bite, he soon disappeared over a rise.  
  
Arallis sickened, stared down at the arrow, confused.  
  
Without another thought, he crumpled like a suddenly string-less puppet, to fall across the body of Manlin.  
  
Night came and Arallis stirred groggily. Surely it wasn't time to get up? What watch was this? And then a wave of pain hit him like a fist and he gasped, trying to curl up, but the black arrow poked him in the shoulder. And water, oh how he wanted water! Where was his servant Dafil?  
  
He laid there, the stench one awful indistinguishable smell and stared at the stars. Wait, how could that be? The stars were moving? He rubbed a hand across his face. They were not only moving; they were getting closer. "Water!" he croaked. "Water!" One of the stars nearby stopped and bobbed over to him. The light revealed the concerned face of an older man with a lantern.  
  
"Ranal! Quick, here's a live one!" he shouted, gesturing to the dark.  
  
Arallis tried to sit up, but the stars decided to spin faster in the night, pulling him into darkness again.  
  
  
  
Dahanna Bellin edged out around the broken pylon of stone, a part of Minas Tirith's outer walls, and glanced quickly around. Except for the sound of cloth flapping in the night breeze from a broken banner, it was quiet. One might even say peaceful, if they didn't know better. But Dahanna did. And so did the others of her kind. They were the night soil collectors. The city still needed its chamber pots emptied and cleaned up every day, war or not. And though frequently interrupted and unsettled, the other city services strived to maintain their schedules, as well.  
  
Dahanna took the large jar off her back and carefully emptied it in the cisterns set out for that purpose. She had to push a very dead orc off the edge to get close enough. Later in the night, the brave drivers would collect the noisome containers and empty them in the pits dug for that purpose.  
  
As she adjusted the jar up on her back, Dahanna heard a noise. The moon was up which lighted up the day's carnage before her like a dreadful drawing, all black and white and graphic. Trying to pinpoint the sound, she wandered off, walking carefully through the detritus of war, and the enemy dead. There it was again!  
  
Dhanna's keen night vision pinpointed the source of the sound. Someone still alive out here! Poor soul! Probably hidden under a pile of bodies or wreckage and just coming to now! How horrible for them!  
  
It was indeed a soldier, trapped under a pile of orcs. Terrified one of the orcs would jump up and scream, she took a deep breath and began to pull the ungainly bodies off. Thankfully all were dead.  
  
She had to pull three orcs off the soldier, whose leg was trapped under a fallen cart. Biting her lip, Dahanna wasn't sure she could move the cart, but deciding the soldier couldn't stay out here any longer, she put her jar down and heaved hard at the pile of wood. The soldier, watching with feverish eyes, pulled his leg out with a yell as she pushed the cart up enough for him to get out from under it.  
  
"My thanks, my lady." He said hoarsely. "Have you any water?"  
  
Panting, Dahanna nodded, hunkered down and got her small drinking jug out. Un-corking it, she gave a little to the soldier.  
  
As she knelt at his side, a terrible creak and moan was heard, and the cart, collapsing back into its original position, smashed her large jar into her back and trapped Dahanna under the settling wreckage.  
  
The soldier, for it was Arallis, stood weaving before a gasping Dahanna, the arrow in his thigh, having snapped off when the cart carrying him and four other wounded had been attacked. He could see no signs of the other soldiers as he looked around. There was no one else alive. No one but the woman who had just rescued him. He went up and tried to pull her out, but that is when the terrible smell of her broken jar assailed his finely pinched nostrils.  
  
"A night soil collector!" He stumbled back from her, waving a hand to clear the air. Bending to pick up her fallen water jug, he tucked it under his sword belt. Water was water and he didn't know how long he'd be out here until he was rescued.  
  
"Please sir! I-I can't move!" Dahanna gasped, she could feel pottery shards grinding into her back and one of her legs had gone numb. "Please, I, ah, I think my leg is broken!"  
  
Arallis, horrified that she had touched him, backed away from her pleading hand and gritting his teeth, stumbled towards the wall. Using it as a crutch, he made his way to a heavily guarded postern gate, and collapsed, Dahanna all but forgotten. 


	2. One found: One Lost

So, Arallis Farahin has finally been rescued.but what of poor Dahanna? And we haven't seen the last of Lord and Lady farahin either. (For those of you who haven't read a Dolengil tale, this is my third one..the others are A Visit to Chaos and the Hall of Healing Imeant it to be the Halls.ANYWAY.they'll explain just WHO Dolengil is..if you haven't guessed yet..(Doelngil is Sindarin for "hidden light.")  
  
  
  
  
  
"Hold him down Calla! He's tearing the wound!" Dolengil told the linen maid who was helping him undress this late arrival.  
  
Dolengil, a recent addition to the healers in the Halls of Healing in Minas Tirith, was unusual. He kept his face covered, save for his piercing and knowing eyes, wrapped in dun-colored cloth, as was the rest of his body. A leather band picked in gold sat on his head to keep the cloth in place. Claiming he was from the "far east,' his exceptional skills were such, that mysterious or not, the other healers, as well as Lord Aragorn, were grateful for his help. Adding to his mystery, he said little and remained aloof from the others, except the linen maid Calla. And that was because the two of them frequently worked the night watch.  
  
A badly wounded young soldier, Arallis, obviously overlooked earlier, had just been delivered from the south postern gate. He was running a high fever from a deeply imbedded orc arrow to the right thigh.  
  
Finally pulling off his armor and clothes, Dolengil put his hands on either side of the boy's head to calm him down. In a few moments, his breathing even out and the soldier relaxed into sleep.  
  
"Thanks again for your help," Dolengil said, standing with a sigh, his eyes glittering from the candle flames nearby. "If you will find a sack for his belongings, I can get to work here."  
  
Nodding, Calla gathered up the dirty armor, boots, belt and empty scabbard. As she started to pick up the pile from the floor, a small water jug rolled out. Dolengil, about to step back, halted when Calla put a hand to his leg. "Wait, Master, you are about to step on something." She picked it and started to put it aside, when she frowned at it. And then, unceremoniously dropped her bundle.  
  
She recognized this, and it didn't belong to the soldier. It was her friend's Dahanna. She knew it, because last summer, the two women had taken some pottery classes with Calla's brother Sanden. And this water jug was one of the things Dahanna had made. Calla shivered suddenly and clutched the jug to her. Taking a shaking breath, she was about to say something to Dolengil, but seeing he was sorting out his surgical implements, she decided now was not a good time. She would look into this herself.  
  
"Master, I am going to put these away and tidy up the supply room, if you need me."  
  
"Thank you Calla." He turned quickly and smiled, Calla could see it in his eyes. Turning, she took the soldier's belongings away and stuffed them in a sack in the supply room, putting it with the others. But Dolengil had seen the worry in the linen maid's face and frowned slightly. Something amiss here? But the soldier moaned in his sleep and Dolengil brought his attention back to the boy. He would talk to Calla later.  
  
The jug she set on the counter, her heart sinking. How had this soldier acquired this? Where was Dahanna?  
  
Calla rubbed her eyes and stretched as she went to the street door in the Halls of Healing. It was just a few hours before dawn. The insistent ringing of the bell probably signaled a baby on the way.  
  
Opening the door expecting an anxious young couple, she was surprised to see an anxious old couple.  
  
"Yes? What can I do for you?"  
  
The woman pushed past Calla and looked around nervously, her husband right behind. "Our, our brave boy Lord Arallis Farahin was brought in here awhile ago. They just found him outside. We just got word!" The woman was wringing her hands and the man put a consoling arm around her shoulders. "There, there pumpkin. Our boy is all right."  
  
The woman sniffed and nodded. "Yes, yes of course, as soon as we get him out of this charnel house."  
  
Calla rolled her eyes. It wasn't like this was the first upper class couple to come here looking for one of the wounded. But this was hardly a "charnel" house.  
  
"If you will wait here, I shall go see what I can discover."  
  
As she walked back to the main Hall, she found she was followed close behind by the couple. Sighing deeply, she entered and saw Dolengil tending to another of the wounded. She watched as he finished giving the man a drink and smiled as he said a few words and laid a hand on his shoulder. The soldier yawned and soon returned to sleep. Dolengil turned at her approach and raised an elegant eyebrow in question.  
  
"Lord and Lady Farahin to see their son Arallis. I believe he is our most recent arrival."  
  
Dolengil nodded and bowed to the couple, who taking it as their due, swept past the healer and looked around. "Where is he?" the woman asked shrilly. "Where is my baby?"  
  
"There are no children here madam," Dolengil replied dryly, "only men who have given their all for their king."  
  
"Oh yes, that upstart who claims to be Isildur's heir. I wouldn't be surprised if this whole affair was his fault, just to make him look better." Her husband immediately tried to shush her, seeing the healer's eyes blaze in barely concealed anger. "Now, now dear, he's not an imposter, even though we don't know much of his background, the Steward has claimed him the rightful heir. It is not our place to judge him. Not now dear. Let us find Arallis."  
  
Appalled by the human's terrible manners, Dolengil was actually struck speechless for a moment. Thankfully, he caught the twinkle of laughter in Calla's face behind the agitated couple and his temper disappeared. "If you will follow me," He turned and led them over to the sleeping Arallis, smiling as he heard the woman comment to her husband in a what she no doubt considered a whisper, but which keen Elvish ears easily heard, "He's dressed mighty peculiarly for a healer. I wonder if he's any good? I don't think he's from around these parts."  
  
"Your son, madam, sir." Dolengil bowed slightly and indicated the sleeping form of Arallis.  
  
As he expected, the woman could barely contain her sobs and turned into the comfort of her husband's arms. "Madam, I assure you, the boy will recover. He needs rest and quiet. He cannot be moved, until his leg has healed some. He took an arrow to his right thigh and it struck the bone."  
  
The husband winced at his description as he patted the distraught mother. "Are you sure we cannot move him? At least to a private room?"  
  
"I am afraid there are no private rooms here."  
  
"But he is here with all the other soldiers, and might he not pick up some illness or disease with all these others around him?"  
  
"I assure you, we keep the Halls very clean. He will be fine here. I will make sure he does not get sick, as I do with all my patients."  
  
The father nodded distractedly and sighed. The woman bent and kissed her son and the two went slowly out of the Hall. Calla saw them to the door.  
  
Dolengil came up behind her just as she latched the door, saying quietly, "It is late and they are tired from worry and anxiety."  
  
Calla looked into his compassionate eyes and smiled slightly. "Of course Master." Sighing, she went past him and into the supply room to stack the last of the supply baskets by the door for use later in the day.  
  
Dolengil followed her and eyed the contents of the room, making sure there were adequate amounts of herbs and bandages.  
  
Calla then noticed her friend's water jug and went and picked it up.  
  
"Why is that sitting there Calla?"  
  
"It fell out of that soldier Arallis' armor when I was bringing it here."  
  
"And?"  
  
"It, it is not his Master." Calla turned to him, her face creased with worry. "It belongs to my friend Dahanna. I wonder where she is?"  
  
"Might she have just given it to him? After he all, was a wounded soldier and his thirst must have been great."  
  
"Yes, of course, that must be it." She clutched the bottle to her and went past the healer.  
  
"Calla, why don't you go home and rest? I shall see you later this afternoon."  
  
She looked up sharply, "You need to rest too Master Dolengil!"  
  
"Yes, of course. I shall just wait for Master Parnil to arrive."  
  
Nodding, she took the bottle and left.  
  
She had no intention of going to bed yet. She knew where the night soil collectors met. It would be simple to go there and find Dahanna. 


	3. Still searching

Calla hurried down the streets of Minas Tirith in the predawn silence. The faint smell of baking drifted to her from a side street, and her stomach rumbled. But she ignored her hunger, and kept on, until she got to the lower levels of the city, where most of the city services were located.  
  
Down here, the streets were busy as many services were done at night when the streets were empty and easier to get around.  
  
Turning down Nighthawk Road, Calla made her way to the Resting Moon tavern and pushed in through the night crews all just finishing their shifts.  
  
It was easy to find the table where the night soil collectors sat, as everyone gave them a wide berth.   
  
Calla, wrinkling her nose slightly, came over to Deseralin, the head of the collectors who was in the midst of a story.  
  
"---and then he says, getting on top of the barrel," Deseralin looked up at Calla and stopped. "Well, Calla m'dear! Nice to see you. Dahanna's not back yet---"  
  
"I know, I know. I am worried about her. I-I found this," she held out the water jug, "in the belongings of a young lord brought to the Halls late this night. I don't know why he would have it..."  
  
Deseralin stood with that, thumping his ale tankard on the wooden table. He took the jug and looked it over. "She made this last year, didn't she? She was proud of it. Hoping maybe she could start a new career for herself and her bairn."  
  
Calla nodded. "Exactly. I think we have to go out side the walls. The soldier was found near the south postern gate."  
  
"All right then. Samfirth, Gosdon and Juldan: Come with me!"  
  
The three male collectors stood and came out from behind the table. Calla made to go with them, but Desarlin held up a hand. "No Calla, this is collector's business. We'll get her. You go on home. Someone will come and tell you the outcome."  
  
Nodding, suddenly tired, Calla turned and went toward home, still clutching the water jug.   
  
But going wearily back up the streets, she realized, Dahanna's "bairn" needed looking after. Making a turning, she went down the increasingly narrow streets, until she reached the damp stones of Ferret's Way where Dahanna made her home with her three-year-old daughter, Keppany.  
  
Taking the small oil lamp at the bottom of the stairs left there for that purpose, Calla went up to the small attic room Dahanna shared with her child.  
  
Finding the key under the loose board near the door, Calla let herself in.   
  
Raising the lamp higher, Calla looked around the tidy but threadbare room, which held a sleeping pallet and a small trundle bed, a table under the grimy skylight and two chairs. A small thin rug lay before the cold fire. A pot of bright geraniums on the table were the only color in the room.  
  
But Keppany wasn't there.  
  
Leaving the room and carefully locking the door and hiding the key, she looked around uncertain where to go.  
  
Sighing heavily, she went back down the stairs and tiredly put the oil lamp back in its niche. Just as she was about to go out into the street, she heard a door open and turned. It was Mistress Creevy, the manager.  
  
"Hullo Calla, are you looking for Dahanna?"  
  
"Well, actually Keppany."  
  
"Ah, she's in here the poor little mite. She's got a cold and Dahanna's had me watching her nights while she works. I thought you were her."  
  
Calla went in and looked at the child, who was sleeping on the floor by the banked fire, wrapped in a thin blanket, clutching her cloth dolly Marbel. Calla could hear the wheeze in her breathing. Mistress Creevy went to the table and picked up her lit pipe. "She's not been sleeping well. You think you could get her something in the Halls that might help? "  
  
Calla nodded. "Yes, of course. Dahanna didn't tell me." She wanted to go to sleep, but she realized this hour of the morning the Halls would be quiet and would be the best time to take the child there.  
  
She bent and gathered the toddler close, and frowned as she could feel the warmth of her through the blanket. "Thanks Mistress Creevy. I'll get her looked at. Dahanna is going to be a bit late today I think."  
  
Mistress Creevy nodded and followed Calla out.  
  
"All right then Calla. I'll tell Dahanna where you've gone."  
  
Calla nodded, and wrapping up Keppany tighter, she went out into the streets, retracing her steps to the Halls of Healing.  
  
  
The streets were more busy now, with venders selling their meager wares, as Calla headed back to the Halls. Her head hurt and she knew it was because, not only tired, she was hungry too. She looked down at Keppany, who slept still, mouth open, nose encrusted with drainage. Poor little chick!  
  
Yawning as she went through the still cool stone courtyard of the Halls, she went through the thankfully empty main examining room and sought out Master Parnil, Master Dolengil's morning replacement. The pallet room was quiet, with only the three linen maids going about and checking the sleeping wounded. Calla could see no sign of Master Parnil. Perhaps, he was in the supply room and she had just missed him, turning, she ran into the tall form of Master Dolengil, who grabbed her frowning slightly.  
  
"Calla, what brings you back here? You should be sleeping." Dolengil looked down at the bundle she carried and he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "And this is...?"  
  
"My missing friend Dahanna's little girl Keppany. She's sick with a cold, I think."  
  
Dolengil took the small bundle from Calla and went off to a nearby examining table, where he carefully unwrapped the sleeping child.  
  
As he did so, Calla said, "And why are you not asleep Master Dolengil?"  
  
He turned with a smile in his eyes, "Master Parnil had a delivery to attend to this morning down the street from his lodgings. He will be along as soon as he may."  
  
Calla sighed, watching the elegant hands of the healer. Master Dolengil worked long enough hours as it was.  
  
Placing a hand on the girl's forehead, he then moved his hand down to the toddler's chest. Her breathing was indeed terribly congested. He brushed the damp hair off the toddler's face.  
  
"Calla, she needs to sleep propped up. I will make some steaming herbs for her to breath in, and a fever reducer." He put a hand on Calla's shoulder as he turned to go to the supply room. "She will be fine. It is just a bad cold, as you surmised."  
  
Nodding, Calla took the toddler to the nearest pallet. As she carried her, Keppany woke up and the thin wail of a sick child filled her ears.  
"It's okay Keppi! It's me, Auntie Calla. Everything's all right. You are just a little sick." She rocked the little girl in her arms for a minute.  
  
"Momma? Where's momma!!" Tears were making her breathing more difficult and she started to gasp as her fright grew.  
  
"No, no, no Keppi! Shh, darling. It's all right. Calm down, I am here."  
  
"Momma!' She hiccupped and her gasping got more pronounced. Calla, frightened, turned to get Dolengil, but she could see him striding towards her quickly from the supply room.  
  
Handing Calla the supplies he carried, he took the terrified toddler and laid her back in the hastily stacked pillows Calla got. Laying a hand on her chest, he closed his eyes for a moment. Keppi's gulping eased and her chest slowed it's frantic heaving.  
  
Lifting his hand, he smiled into the eyes of the child, who went still, mesmerized by the stranger. Dolengil turned, handing Calla the cloth bag of herbs. She smiled back at him, as she took the bag for steaming. "Thank you Master," she said softly as she went to get the hot water.  
  
Dolengil covered the little one, who couldn't take her eyes off of him. She put a fist in her mouth, clutching her dolly close and tried to sink down under the blanket. "No my little bird, you need to sleep up on the pillows. Your momma will expect you to be a good girl and take your medicine too." He lifted her head, leaning it against the pillow. Before she could react, he had pressed, just so, on her jaw and she opened her mouth. He poured the contents of the vial into her mouth and quickly, gently massaged her throat so she swallowed. Her eyes went wide, but she did not cry.  
  
"Good girl. Now let's get you out of your chemise. Here, let me put your doll right next to you."  
  
Calla came back with the little brazier and the bowl, already steaming and set it up near the toddler. Dolengil had pulled the sweat-soaked night shirt off the girl and handing it to Calla said, "I don't suppose we have anything small enough for her."  
  
"No, just clothes for adults."  
  
"Well, we'll just have to keep her warm while this gets washed." Calla nodded and took the chemise for cleaning. Dolengil leaned over Keppany who continued to stare, fascinated, holding her dolly once again. He lay a hand on her brow and sent her to sleep.  
  
As Dolengil washed up, preparing to leave, there was a commotion at the main door and actually some shouting. He put the soiled towel in a basket and walked out to the main examining room.  
  
The night soil collectors had found Dahenna.   
  
And Lord and Lady Farahin were back, determined to get their son moved. This time, with an officious under-steward in tow.  
  
The commotion was caused by the Farahins being appalled by the sight of Dahanna's dirty and injured body being brought into the same Hall as their son.  
  
"You can't bring that filthy woman in here! She should be treated outside! Lord Dowhel! You must stop them!"  
  
The night soil collectors just plowed through the Farahins and their under-steward.  
  
Dolengil met them and indicated an examining table, which Calla, white-faced at her friend's condition, had rushed to cover with a clean cloth. The men lay her down carefully on her stomach.  
  
"She's been laying all night under a broken cart, sir. Her jar's been broke and smashed into her back. But she's still alive."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
1 


	4. Dahanna's deliverance

Thanks for sticking with this: it's a bit longer than my other Dolengil tales, but its a bit more complicated a story.......  
  
  
  
  
  
Desarlin turned to a horrified Calla and said, "You let us know how she does, all right?"  
  
"Of course, as soon as I can."  
  
With Calla's help, Dolengil carefully started to undress Dahanna.  
  
The night soil collectors plowed through the protesting Farahins and left.  
  
The under-steward, finally screwing up his courage, came up to Dolengil and Calla.  
  
"Master, I am afraid I have to agree with Lord and Lady Farahin. This woman cannot be treated here! Think of the vile filth she brings in! We cannot have our brave boys exposed to such foulness!"  
  
Dolengil, handing Calla the last of the broken pottery from Dahanna's back, paused only briefly, to spear the insect next to him. His eyes blazed, seeming to catch the sunlight---though none was near.  
  
The insect squirmed, his face going pale. But he had not gotten his position by being an easily squashed insect.  
  
"You cannot intimidate me, sir healer! I will go to your supervisor---"  
  
"Master Atural is out on the battlefield today."  
  
Dolengil's eyes went dark and intense as he continued. "I suggest that you take the Farahins and leave, unless you would like to see just how good my healing skills are."  
  
Lord Dowhel, chin quivering, realized he would get no further. And the healer's thinly veiled threat made him a bit nervous.  
  
Gathering the Farahins, he ushered them outside, having every intention of tracking down Master Atural when he re-entered Minas Tirith.  
  
The Farahins were not happy at once again being thwarted in retrieving their son. But like Lord Dowhel, they realized the folly of continuing their protests, for the time being.   
  
Calla sighed as she saw the retreating forms of the Farahins and their under-steward. Yawning, she continued to help Dolengil unclothe the unconscious Dahanna.  
  
The injured woman's skin was cold and clammy, so surreptitiously, Dolengil heated the air around her with a quick spell, as he carefully examined her back.  
  
Nothing was broken there thankfully. But her left leg. He shook his head at it. Bathing the cuts and bruises with warm water and herbs one of the other linen maids had brought, Dolengil left a damp towel on her back, as he and Calla gently turned the woman over.   
  
Her face save for a few scratches easily dealt with, was unhurt as was her chest. Calla cleaned the rest of her body gently. Dolengil shook his head as he expertly examined her left leg. It was broken in two places and sighing deeply, he knew it would need more than a splint.  
  
"Calla, we will have to prepare for surgery..."  
  
She nodded, yawning again, and was about to turn and get his surgical kit, when he put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"No Calla. Get some sleep. I see Ginall is here. She and I will finish this."  
  
Nodding again, Calla rubbed her eyes, too tired to protest, "I will see you this evening then."  
  
"Yes. Sleep well Calla."  
  
She looked at him one more time. "And your rest Master Dolengil?"  
  
  
"Will be all the better for tending to your friend."  
  
  
"Should I leave Keppi where she is? She won't bother the others if she wakens?"  
  
"She will sleep Calla. Do not worry."  
  
"All right." Calla rubbed her face and left.  
  
  
Dolengil, with Ginall's help, proceeded with his surgery.  
  
An hour later, as he was suturing up his incision, Master Parnil came by. Ginall, seeing by his expression he wanted to talk, left the two healers.  
  
"I will go fetch the splints and bandages Master Doelngil."  
  
"Thank you. And I'll need a strong pain reliever and a fever reducer as well. Two vials will do for now, but make sure you have more ready for later."  
  
Master Parnil, watching the foreigner finish his exacting work, sighed unhappily. That under-steward Lord Dowhel had stopped him upon entering and poured out his tale of woe. He privately agreed with Dolengil's work, but publicly, he knew any adverse words about the Halls, and people would go elsewhere, which frequently led to worse problems down the line as the relied on quacks and home remedies.  
  
"Master Dolengil, excellent work."  
  
Not looking up, he tied off the last knot and lay a casual hand on the incision as he turned, sending healing energy to the wound. However the energy was not without cost, and Dolengil staggered a bit. He desperately needed rest.  
  
Looking up at the slightly worried face of his fellow healer, he smiled under his face wrap. "You are here because Lord Dowhel has spoken to you, I presume."  
  
"Yes, and mind you, I think the man is an idiot. But if the Halls are spoken of badly, then the populace tends to rely on less certain methods of healing and...."  
  
"Would you have me turn this woman away? Her leg was broken in two places, and you see it required surgery to repair. Are her services to the city held in so little regard, that the......populace will not see her hurts tended here? Should she be treated like a rabid animal?" Dolengil, tired, had allowed his normally melodious voice to raise, actually making Parnal flinch. "Healing knows no limits Master Parnil. I cannot in good conscience limit my skills to only the wealthy or those deemed worthy by a select few. I cannot."  
  
Knowing Ginall would make sure Dahanna was settled comfortably, Dolengil swept past the flustered Parnil and left the Halls.  
  
Perhaps he should have never come. Humans!  
  
Disgusted, he strode angrily to his lodgings and sleep, when it came, was a long time in coming.  
  
  
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	5. Changes and a surprise

I have decided to upload some more of Dolegils tale as I see it has been awhile..this is sort of a middle scene..things will speed up some in the next section....!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dolengil strode down the sparsely filled streets that afternoon, frowning slightly. The air was dry and warm. Too dry and warm for this early in the spring. Was this some new deviltry of the Dark Lord's?  
  
He stopped, at a fruit juice seller's, and quickly drank some refreshing apple juice. Paying the woman, he noticed her listless response. The heat was getting to others, as well.  
  
As he entered into the Halls, and crossed the main examining room grateful for it's emptiness, he was aware of a slight odor of sickness, which was highly unusual for its presence, as the Halls were scrupulously clean.  
  
He went directly to check on Dahanna.  
  
But she was not in the main Hall.  
  
Frowning slightly, he looked for Calla, whom he saw was sponging a soldier's forehead. Observing her gentleness he smiled. With study, Calla would make an excellent healer.  
  
"Good afternoon, Calla. Did you get some rest and food?"  
  
Without turning Calla said, "Yes Master Dolengil. I am rested and I have eaten." She turned as she wrung out the cloth. "And yourself?"  
  
"The same. Where is Dahanna?"  
  
Calla dropped the cloth into the bowl with the peppermint oil and said with a sigh. "I just thought, to allow her the peace and quiet she needs, I had her put in one of the small rooms just off the main examining room."  
  
"Out of sight; out of mind." He turned to go examine her and Calla added as he left. "I put Keppi in the room with her too."  
  
Nodding, he went to the small rooms and easily discovered which one contained Dahanna. Still asleep, he examined her broken leg, which was propped by a pillow. Everything seemed to be going at an even keel with her.  
  
Keppi was awake and playing with her dolly. She looked up from the small pallet and Dolengil squatted down and placed a hand on Keppi's forehead. She silently popped a hand in her mouth and looked at him wide-eyed. He was glad to see her fever had gone. Though her breathing was still a little raspy, it had eased up considerably. By morning she would be able to go back to the woman who watched her. Noticing that Calla had not only dressed her in her clean chemise, but had brought a plate of food suitable for a three-year-old, he patted Keppi on the head and left quietly.  
  
As he walked down the Hall, he realized with a sigh, he needed to check on Arallis Farahin. Moving smoothly through the pallets of the injured, he noticed that Arallis must have been moved as well.  
  
Raising his voice to carry over several rows he asked Calla, "And did Lord Farahin get moved as well?"  
  
Calla looked up and frowning slightly, glanced around. "Well, Master, I did not order his movement. I shall go inquire."  
  
Dolengil went and checked on the progress of his other patients. Calla joined him as he finished changing a bandaged shoulder on a thin, young soldier who seemed embarrassed by the attention. As he lay the soldier back, the boy spoke up, "Thank you Master. It doesn't hurt that much." Knowing that the young man was dealing with a spear thrust, Dolengil paused a moment to send some healing energy to the wound and smiled as the soldier sighed in relief.  
  
"Yes Calla, what did you discovered?"  
  
Smiling, she led Dolengil to a quiet corner where a table holding bowls of steaming herbal washes stood, she said quietly. "While you and I were gone, the parents persuaded Master Parnil to let Arallis go home."  
  
Sighing loudly, Dolengil looked at Calla and shook his head. "Well upon their heads so be it. I made my wishes clear."  
  
"Indeed Master Dolengil."  
  
Not happy about Arallis, but realizing little could be done, Dolengil went back to his tasks.  
  
But as the evening wore on, Dolengil began to notice more of his patients were restless in the heat that seemed to settle in the Hall. And though the linen maids were diligent in cleaning the Hall, he noticed the rising odor of sickness as well.  
  
Grateful there was a lull in battle, few patients were brought to the Halls that evening and when the sun came up, though still disturbed by the changes in the Halls, Dolengil went to his rest with an easy mind.  
  
A few days went by, and Dolengil noticed the rise of simple illness in the Halls. The battle wounded came in waves, as usual, but he noticed those coming in with chest pains, nausea, headache, and other signs of sickness were growing in number.  
  
Dahanna was recovering well in her small room, which remained cool because of the hallway outside. Only a hanging of linen kept out the curious.  
  
As Calla was taking away the mid day meal tray from Dahanna, Dahanna asked, "Do you think maybe I could go home soon Calla? I am, well, I feel so useless just lying here. I do not read or sew or embroider...at home I would have Keppi to watch..."  
  
"But surely Keppi is too much for you to handle right now Dahanna? You won't be able to get out of bed to keep her out of mischief."  
  
"I know, I know...perhaps Mistress Creevy can keep an eye on us both."  
  
"Well, I could ask Master Dolengil."  
  
"Thank you Calla!"  
  
Calla, carrying the tray back to the kitchens, winced at the bright afternoon sunlight shining in the courtyard as she crossed the warm stones. Coughing slightly, she entered the bustling kitchens and put the tray with the other incoming dirty dishes and turned to leave. Frowning, she noticed one of the washers, leaning over one of the rinse tubs and coughing hard. Rubbing her forehead, she went up to the young boy and put a hand on his back. "Orlas, are you all right?"  
  
"I-I am fine...just a nasty cough...I'll be over it in a minute."  
  
"All right. But if it persists, come into the Halls, we have cough syrup."  
  
"Thanks." His cough petered off and he stood with a smile and then got back to work.  
  
Calla went thoughtfully back into the Halls. Going through the supply room, she entered the stillroom to check on the amounts of cough syrups and fever reducers. She found Dolengil bent over a workable measuring a deep brown tincture, which from the smell, was the basis for an anti-nausea cordial.  
  
"Master, I---" He turned at her voice, and Calla was pleasantly surprised to see he had let down the cloth that covered the lower part of his face. His features were quite handsome, if a bit austere. Arching a characteristic eyebrow at her he said, "Yes Calla, what can I do for you?"  
  
"Well Master, there are a few things. First, Dahanna would like to go home, and I have noticed a lot of coughs in the last day or so. And, and, I am glad to see you!"  
  
Dolegil laughed. "Yes, I do not usually show my face, but the heat being what it is and the privacy here allowed me a respite." She smiled at him and nodded. He turned back to measuring the cordial and said, frowning slightly "I have noticed the rise in just plain illness here myself. I am making sure we have enough cordials to cover various ills. As for mistress Bellin, I worry that not being able to get about will frustrate her, giving her a chance to re-injure herself, especially taking care of her child."  
  
"She told me she would have mistress Creevy keep an eye on both of them." Calla looked at the floor. "I-I think it would be better for her Master. Not only for her, but to avoid any more trouble with the under-steward."  
  
"Yes, our officious Lord Dowhel. He has been thankfully absent these last few days. All right Calla, go tell Dahanna this evening, I will take her back to her rooms."  
  
"Oh no need to do it yourself Master, I shall get a horse and cart."  
  
Dolengil put a hand on her shoulder. "She is no burden Calla. And my carrying her will be much easier on her injury than bouncing about in a cart."  
  
"As you will, Master. I shall go tell her."  
  
Nodding, he turned back to his work, frowning as he heard Calla muffle a cough out in the corridor.  
  
  
  
Dolengil was still catching up with making medicines in the still room, when he heard a commotion outside, coming from the courtyard. Calla came running in and said, "Master Dolengil, Lord Aragorn----"  
  
"I can speak for myself mistress." Aragorn smiling, strode into the still room. Dolengil had turned immediately on his entrance, realizing with a sinking heart, his face was still uncovered.  
  
Moving swiftly, as he was not ready for Aragorn to recognize him, he told Calla, "Could you please go to the kitchens and get something for Lord Aragorn to eat? I am sure he is hungry and thirsty."  
  
Nodding, Calla left, coughing.  
  
Aragorn, struck dumb by the appearance of his father just stood, mouth open. Luckily, his retainers could not see past their commander filling the doorway. Dolengil, about to tell them all to leave, was saved from that by Aragorn turning and saying slowly, "I would have words with the healer Dolengil alone. Please go refresh yourselves. I shall join you shortly with what I can discover here."  
  
Dolengil smiled tiredly at Aragorn's back. Indeed!  
  
Once they were alone, Elrond indicated with a hand, a chair next to his and Aragorn mesmerized, just sat.  
  
"Ada? I am not dreaming?"  
  
Elrond stared at his foster son, his face alight with love. But now was not the time for distracting revelations. Not with an epidemic threatening.  
  
"Estel. My son, look at me."  
  
"Ada..." Aragorn leaned forward, his tired face relaxing into a wide smile, "Ada, I do not know how you got here but I am so glad to see you." He stood and wrapped his arms around his foster father. Elrond, unable to resist, returned his warm embrace, his eyes closed tightly. Getting Aragorn to sit again, Elrond pulled his chair close to his and leaned forward, laying his hands on Aragorn's shoulders.  
  
"My son," he repeated, "look at me."  
  
Elrond's intense gaze, catching the light from the nearby hanging oil lamp locked with Aragorns' and filled his vision. Raising his hands to place them on either side of Aragorns' face he said softly, "Estel, you will forget you saw me today. Completely. I am not here. I am only the healer Dolengil, nothing more, nothing less."  
  
Aragorn, mesmerized, did not blink. But a tear appeared and dripped down his face. Elrond leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Brushing a hand down his cheek, Elrond sat back and slowly turned back to his distillations.  
  
"You were saying my lord?"  
  
"I-I," Aragorn wiped his face, confused and looked at the finger where the tear lingered. "I came here to tell you that-that the healers on the field believe the Dark Lord has produced conditions ideal for an epidemic of some kind. The dry weather and dust and the fact there have been lots of lung complaints."  
  
"It is the same conclusion I have drawn my lord. We have seen a higher number of the sick here as well. You see I am here already making sure we will have enough medicines to weather the storm."  
  
"My thanks then." Aragorn got up slowly and looked into the unreadable eyes of the now customarily covered Dolengil. A moment's silence and then he went out.  
  
Dolengil slumped down to his chair, his head in his hands. 


	6. Dolengil has had enough

This tale will take a little longer to resolve than I thought.But it is coming along now that I know what's going to happen...I hope you are enjoying this and I shall keep posting (I am a bit slow because I am working on four other tales at the moment.including a collaboration which is coming along fabulously) So stay tuned!  
  
  
  
  
  
Though unsettled by his unexpected revelation to Aragorn, Dolengil continued to make medicines in between tending to the sick. And four more patients had entered the Halls from the city, complaining of headaches and nausea and a persistent cough.  
  
Shaking his head as he saw to the newest patient, he turned to Calla, to place the empty vial in the basket she usually carried with her to collect what he had used while tending to the injured. He looked carefully at the linen maid and with a small sigh, covered the young woman lying near them and turned to Calla.  
  
Calla blinked several times as Dolengil took her by the elbow and led her down the aisle of the injured. Coughing, she sat where he indicated, her basket dangling between her knees. Coughing again, she realized she was sitting. Surprised, she made to stand up and felt a soft pressure pushing her back to a pallet.  
  
Dolengil came into view as he knelt before her, taking her basket and putting it aside. His eyes looked at her with concern and smiling beneath his veil, he slipped her shoes off and then swung her feet up onto the pallet. Calla started coughing again, and then found herself propped up by two pillows and covered by a thankfully warm blanket, as she was suddenly taken by a chill.  
  
Dolengil put a cool hand on her forehead and Calla sighed in relief and was about to slide into sleep, when she realized he couldn't! Her shift wasn't done! She needed to see to Dahanna and Kepi! Sitting up so suddenly she surprised the healer, she looked at him, saying with a suddenly dry throat, "No Master, I cannot sleep now! My shift isn't over and I have to see Dahanna and Kepi, and---"  
  
"Calla, you have caught the sickness stealing into Minas Tirith. Here," He opened a vial of medicine and she reluctantly swallowed the contents. "Rest now, I will check on Dahanna and Kepi. I need to see how her leg is doing, so it will be no trouble."  
  
Calla sighed and her head lolled to side as Dolengil sent her to sleep.  
  
Standing Dolengil continued through the sick and replaced Calla's supplies. Knowing Calla would have worked herself until she had literally fallen over, Dolengil made the decision for her, and put her to bed before that happened.  
  
He turned and went back out into the Hall and surveyed the slowly filling pallets. Keeping the sick all together was not a bad idea, but combining them with the injured form the battlefield just added insult to their injuries. This had happened once before during one of the several battles during the Last Alliance of Elves and Men in the Second Age. They needed to be separated and quickly before the disease spread.  
  
Dolengil decided a meeting with the other healers was needed immediately.  
  
Quickly striding across the courtyard to the kitchens, he went through the warm steamy confines, redolent of soup and bread, and climbed a flight of stairs to the Head Healer's study.  
  
Master Berem, with whom he had little contact other than when he offered his services, was writing in a journal when he knocked and entered.  
  
"Master Berem," Doelngil bowed slightly and got straight to the point, "I think we have the makings of an epidemic on our hands."  
  
Berem looked up at that, his eyebrows raised as he saw the tall form of the mysterious healer from the east looming over his desk. Berem, a large man slightly running to fat, leaned back in his ornate chair. His healing skills, though initially excellent, had been put aside quite some time ago for more administrative tasks.  
  
"And what brings you to that conclusion Master...Dolengil, is it not?" Nodding he said, "I have noticed a sharp increase in the number of sick entering the Halls with the same complaints: fever, nausea and coughing. Lord Aragorn visited with me from off the battlefield briefly today and has told me the same illness is appearing in the field hospitals. It is his conclusion that these are signs of an epidemic as well."  
  
Berem stood and walked to the open window, where little breeze was to be had and looked out into the bright hot light of the courtyard below. "Lord Aragorn, as he is new to battle on this scale, may be exaggerating. Illness is always rampant on battlefields, as it is so hard to maintain adequate supply lines as well as just having enough clean water on hand."  
  
"Is prevention not nine-tenths of the cure Master Berem?" Dolengil realized that here was another bureaucrat, happy with his position and unable or unwilling to think beyond the confines of his study walls.  
  
"Of course. It is one of the first lessons learned.Master Dolengil." Berem turned to eye the oddly dressed foreigner. "I believe it is just an increase in head congestion brought on by the winds and the dry conditions."  
  
"Are these conditions not highly unusual for this time of year in Minas Tirith? Could they not be something concocted by the Dark Lord to eat away at morale?"  
  
"You are a foreigner, so I can easily pardon your ignorance in such matters." Dolengil raised his eyebrows at the man's stubborn foolishness.  
  
" The Dark Lord is nothing more than a clever general working on the fears of an ignorant populace." Master Berem continued jovially. "Do not be taken in by such tales."  
  
Appalled by the man's inability to see the obvious, Dolengil said slowly, "Does that mean you will take no measures to see that this illness does not spread?"  
  
"We will take all reasonable precautions." He returned to his desk and sat, picking up his quill. "Now, if you have nothing further to say, I must get back to my accounts."  
  
"And what reasonable precautions would those be?" Dolengil insisted, leaning forward.  
  
Master Berem looked up his expression purposefully bland. "As I said, they will be the "reasonable precautions" we have utilized in similar circumstances. Good day, Master Dolengil."  
  
Dolengil's eyes blazed and went dark like a late summer thunderstorm. Another idiot in a position of power. He and Lord Dowhel were of a kind.  
  
With a sweep of his robes, Dolengil left, hearing Master Berem adding cheerfully as he rapidly descended the stairs, "And thank you for your excellent work! The Ministry of Healing is pleased."  
  
Dolengil had already left the building.  
  
Deciding to stay in the Halls the rest of the day and night, Dolengil made sure to talk to as many of the healers as he could to see what their opinions of the spreading sickness was. And as he went through his patients and admitted new ones, he started to keep notes on the progress of the disease through different people. The hardest hit of course were the children, and those already dealing with affliction, or the poor.  
  
By the end of the day, 11 more people had been admitted to the Halls, all with various symptoms of the disease.  
  
Late that night, the quiet of the Hall was sporadically disturbed by deep wracking coughs.  
  
Carrying a large candle as he went down the aisles, he came upon Calla, who smiled tiredly at him, her eyes glittering feverishly in the light. Placing the candle at the head of her pallet on a space provided for such things, Dolengil lifted her head carefully to give her another dose of medicine. He then softly wiped her face with a cool wet rag. "Master, I am sorry, " she stirred feebly as if to rise. Dolengil pushed her down. "No Calla, rest. You need to get your strength back. I am doing fine. Finaran has been a big help today. And during the midday meal, I went to see Dahanna and Keppi. They are both doing fine. Dahanna is getting about with a stick now and Keppi has a new tooth." He did not tell her that he left plenty of fever reducer and cough syrup with them in case the disease struck their rooming house.  
  
Calla nodded coughing. She felt his cool hand on her forehead and once again fell asleep.  
  
Dolengil, making sure she was covered well, went on to his next patient.  
  
In the middle of the night, another healer, Master Sarin came in to relieve Dolengil, but he decided to stay on another shift. After Dolengil told him of his meeting with the Head Healer, Master Sairn gave him his rather forceful opinion of the Head Healer. "Oh you will get absolutely no where with Master Berem. He would not know the right end of a suture these days. His life is all accounting and pleasing bureaucrats! Indeed, I agree with you Master Dolengil, this has all the makings of an epidemic! But what can we do to stop it?"  
  
Dolengil looked at his fellow healer and said. "We could isolate the sick from the merely wounded."  
  
Sarin put a hand to his bearded chin and looked at the strange healer before him. "Hm. We would have to find a place as big as the Halls of Healing to isolate the sick in. Hm. Let me talk to some of the other healers Master Dolengil. It is a good idea. We had a small bout of sailor's fever in Pelargir about five years ago when I worked with the port authority there. We isolated the sailors disembarking from entering the city. They complained a lot, but the city at large was spared a sweeping wave of sickness."  
  
"My thanks for your help in this Master Sarin." The healer nodded and went off to see his own patients.  
  
As they night faded into another hot, dry day, Dolengil was alarmed at the number of people coming in. Before midday, they had had over 20 new patients.  
  
Master Parnal, working the morning shift, also agreed with Dolengil about the good isolating the sick would be for everyone. But all the healers agreed getting the Head Healer to agree to such a move would be almost impossible until it was too late to halt.  
  
Dolengil, deciding he had enough bureaucratic inefficiency and hand wringing, decided to take matters into his own hands. He would take his request to Aragorn.  
  
That night, exhaustion nibbling at the edges of his thoughts, Dolengil borrowed a horse from Master Parnal, and given Aragorn's direction from a wounded soldier admitted after sunset, he made his way through the warm streets down to the northeast gate.  
  
Challenged only briefly, as a healer he was allowed to go out of the city, especially when he said his direction was the battlefield hospital tents.  
  
Even familiar with the carnage of war, Dolengil winced at the horrors laying in random piles as he and his nervous horse made their way through the battlefield. Grateful that his double wrapped face cloth helped diminish the stench of the dead, Dolengil's memories drifted, to older battles and how he and others had frantically tried to rescue the injured form the oncoming claws of death, chronically understaffed and with inadequate supplies.  
  
He could hear the screams and moans even now.  
  
His horse snorted and bucked a little, bringing Dolengil's thoughts swiftly to the present. Though the field was dark, his keen Elvish sight was not hindered and sadly he saw what had spooked his horse.  
  
Another horse lay almost under their feet, and its grunting as it tried to rise on two broken legs had brought his mount to an uneasy standstill. Sliding off his gelding, Dolengil, laying a comforting hand on his nervous animal and moved to bend down to the dying horse in the torn up dirt. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his dagger and efficiently slit the animal's throat, moving back swiftly from the gush of blood. Looking around for the animal's rider, he found a young man, his eyes staring at the field of stars above him, his spirit flown from a direct spear thrust through the chest. Covering the young man's eyes, Dolengil rose tiredly and remounted his restive horse, continuing on through the field.  
  
His thoughts went to Aragorn again. Though it made Dolengil slightly nervous to confront his son twice in the same day, it had to be done. The conditions in Minas Tirith needed to be swiftly addressed and swiftly. And by someone whose decision would not be argued with. Aragorn was that person.  
  
Dolengil smiled under his wrapping, making sure the cloth was secure. It would not do for Estel to see his face once more!  
  
An hour's careful walk through nightmare conditions brought Dolengil to the edge of the main encampment. Challenged three times before he was able to dismount, Dolengil was finally led to the largest of the healing tents.  
  
Pushing aside the flap, he found Aragorn bending over a young soldier (they were all SO young in Dolengil's eyes) whose left arm was in a sling and half of his face was swathed in linen.  
  
"We have found your horse Safil, rest easy. He was not injured and even now awaits you in the picket line." Aragorn brought a hand to the uncovered cheek. "You will be well soon, Master Rasanath assures me. Rest now."  
  
"Thank you my lord, for finding my horse."  
  
Aragorn smiled and moved on.  
  
Dolengil spoke up quietly, "My lord, a word with you when you get a moment."  
  
He looked up to see the calm eyes of the foreign healer Dolengil.  
  
"Master, what brings you out here?"  
  
"Urgent business I am afraid."  
  
"All right then, let us go to my tent."  
  
Aragorn moved past the healer and ducked out of the tent. Dolengil followed Aragorn as he made his way easily through the camp site, greeting soldiers and making friendly comments. He paused at a row of tents, and bent to talk to a young man whose knee and upper right arm were bandaged. "I thank you for your work on the dispatches today Feman. You did good work, and it was much appreciated. I can use your help tomorrow as well. After breakfast?"  
  
"Of course my lord! Thank you!" He tried to rise, but Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head with a smile.  
  
Dolengil followed his son, smiling beneath his wrap. He had the makings of a great king. 


	7. Father and son

Aragorn brushed aside the tent flat and indicated Dolengil was to precede him. Entering behind him, Aragorn pulled out a simple wooden chair for the healer in the anteroom of his tent. There was also a wooden table and two other chairs, the remains of a meal and several maps. Light was provided by candles on the table and three silver and glass hanging lanterns.  
  
Aragorn went behind the wooden table and pushing aside the half-eaten meal, pulled a still cool ewer of wine to pour Dolengil a glass. Silently offering it to him, he took his half-finished goblet and sipped from it.  
  
"Now, Master Dolengil, what can I do for you?"  
  
Dolengil sat back in the chair, taking a large swallow of wine. Sighing he looked at his son and said, "My lord, an epidemic is indeed beginning to make itself felt in Minas Tirith. In the last few days, we have had almost 40 people come to the Halls complaining of the same symptoms, headache, fever, nausea and coughs. I feel we need to isolate the sick from the wounded."  
  
"Have you not brought up the issue with Master Berem?"  
  
"He is why I am here. Master Berem believes it is just congestion brought on the by the wind and the dry conditions. The man is a fool."  
  
Aragorn grinned behind his raised goblet. "A fool indeed, but a well ensconced one. What would you have me do?"  
  
"We need to find a place to move the sick. They must be kept from infecting the wounded."  
  
"I agree. But as to a place large enough." Aragorn rose from behind the table and walked to the tent entrance, staring out into the bustling encampment.  
  
Dolengil watched him as he drank his wine. Setting his goblet down he realized he should probably have no more, as exhaustion was nibbling at the edges of his strength.  
  
"My lord, if it would be no trouble, I have not eaten." Dolengil reluctantly interrupted Aragorn's thought.  
  
"Of course! What a remiss host I am!" He turned and called out the tent flap. "Ahfaren! Could I please have a plate of stew and some fruit?"  
  
"At once my lord."  
  
Aragorn turned to the healer. "It should not take long." He came up and looked sharply at Dolengil, noticing the weariness in his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders. "I think it would be best if you spent the night as well, Master Dolengil. I am afraid we have no spare accommodations, but you are welcome to the floor of my tent. "  
  
Dolengil looked up and nodded silently. He would need his strength when he returned to the city.  
  
As the young soldier came in with a bowl of stew in one hand and two small apples in another, he smiled at the two occupants, bowed slightly and left the food on the edge of the table.  
  
Aragorn brought the food and set it in front of Dolengil, who smiling his thanks began to eat with an appetite.  
  
Taking a sip of wine, Aragorn wiped a hand across his face, waiting until Dolengil took the edge off his hunger.  
  
Smiling when he saw that the bowl of stew was emptied quickly and the healer had grabbed an apple and was carving it in precise quarters for eating, Aragorn leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands folded before his face.  
  
"I think I have thought of the perfect place Master Dolengil."  
  
Dolengil wiped his face with his napkin, and relaxed in his chair as he popped a piece of apple into his mouth. Feeling pleasantly full, he smiled at his son, idly twirling the stem of his wooden goblet. "Yes, and where would that be?"  
  
"Why the court ballroom in the main palace!"  
  
"Whatever made you think of that my lord?"  
  
"One of my companions from Mirkwood, Prince Legolas and I were taken on a tour of the palace one afternoon when I was summoned to a meeting with the Steward right after I arrived here. I remember we both commented on how most of the populace of Minas Tirith would fit in there. It is huge! And it even has several alcoves that could be used for the very sick."  
  
"The ballroom of the palace.......an elegant solution! Can you convince the Steward to allow this?"  
  
"I shall use all my skills to persuade him. Tomorrow. Now, I think you need to rest."  
  
Dolengil smiled in real pleasure as he rose. What a man Estel had become! "I will take you up on your kind offer my lord." Looking around, he asked, "Where would you like me?"  
  
Aragorn slipped around the table, and lifting a chest and putting it behind the table, he indicted the spot along the eastern wall of the tent. He then went into the one inner room of the tent where he slept. Bringing out two folded blankets, he laid one on the rug and then offered the other one to the healer.  
  
"Thank you my lord, this will do nicely."  
  
"Then I bid you good night." Aragorn paused to lay a hand on the healer's shoulder and went into the inner room, pulling the flap closed.  
  
Dolengil lay down and threw the blanket over himself. He fell asleep in minutes.  
  
  
  
Much later that night, Aragorn arose thirsty and went into the common room for a carafe of water that sat on the table with the wine. Glancing at Dolengil cursorily, he stopped surprised. The healer lay on his back, his eyes half open in Elvish sleep, the faint light from a slow burning candle on the table catching in his silver eyes.  
  
Silver eyes........  
  
He reached out and grabbing the candle, he slowly went over to the healer and stood over him. Those eyes.......  
  
He saw that one of the edges of the cloth that normally wrapped the bottom of his face had pulled loose. His moment of polite hesitation was swallowed by a sudden overwhelming need to see the healer's face. Quietly, as only a Ranger could, Aragorn bent and carefully lifted the edge off the exhausted elf's features, the candle throwing soft light on the sleeping form.  
  
Revealing his father's peaceful face.  
  
Dropping the cloth as if burned, Aragorn stepped away from....Elrond and leaving the candle on the edge of the table, he went swiftly back to bed. Sitting on the slightly raised mattress, he put his head in his hands, dumbfounded.  
  
What was Elrond doing here? Why had he not let Aragorn know he had come to Minas Tirith? He raised his head and looked sightless across his room to the closed flap of tent.  
  
And more importantly, what was he going to do now that he knew?  
  
He lay back down and curled up on his left side, staring at the small oil lamp that lay burning at his bedside. Ada! Here! He smiled, how wonderful! But then the smile wavered. Would his father allow him this information or would he throw a glamour on himself? And perhaps he already had....it wasn't something Elrond had ever done around Aragorn, but he did not doubt his father was capable of it.  
  
His father here in Minas Tirith.....and HOW he had gotten here would be another nagging question that needed answering.  
  
Grinning, he closed his eyes.  
  
Dolengil stirred and woke. Noting the height of the one candle on the table told him it was deep in the middle watches of the night. When he sat up, his right hand cracked a puddle of wax near his shoulder. He frowned slightly as his face covering slipped off, unveiling his features. Adjusting it automatically, he heard Aragorn stir in the room beyond and Elrond went still. The candle had moved from its position from the center of the table and was now at the edge, closest to Aragorn.  
  
Heart sinking, Elrond stood and straightened his robes.  
  
Aragorn knew his true identity.  
  
Pulling back the flap leading into his son's room, Elrond stood a moment smiling and then went up to him. He was not going to remember this little mistake.  
  
Laying his cool hand on his son's forehead, he was startled by the sudden strong grip on his wrist as Aragorn twisted out from under his father's palm.  
  
"No Ada! Do not make me forget! I do not want to!"  
  
"I am afraid I must my son, it would complicate things immeasurably if you knew I was here. No one must know. Especially the Enemy! It could make things very bad for you."  
  
"The Enemy will never know from me father! No one! Not Legolas nor Gimili either." Aragorn released his father's hand and slipped quickly to the other side of the bed and stood up facing him across the rumpled bedclothes. "I would never betray your trust!"  
  
"Of course not! But what if, oh Elbereth forbid, you were taken captive and revealed my presence? I could never live with myself!"  
  
"If I was taken father, then everything would change and I imagine the war, and the world would go a different path. I will not fail you father! I have too much to lose!"  
  
"As do I!" Elrond moved around the bed, his eyes full of pleading. "Estel, please, let us just go on as we have." He lifted a hand towards his son.  
  
"No Ada. Trust me to be a man about this! When we win this war and the Ring is destroyed, I shall be what you wanted: The King of Arnor and Gondor. A worthy man.....a man deserving of Arwen. Cannot you trust me in this matter?' Aragorn moved closer to his father, resolutely. "Am I not worthy in your eyes?" He did not flinch as he stared into his father's silver eyes narrowed in consternation.  
  
The silence stretched out and then both were startled by a hissing sound coming from the candle as some flying insect burned in the flame.  
  
Smiling nervously, Aragorn tilted his head, his grin crooked. "Come father. Trust me!"  
  
Elrond felt himself relaxing suddenly and his expression softened. He raised his hand to his son's face, who did not recoil an inch and ran it softly down his cheek.  
  
"I trust you Estel." The two then hugged the other tight for a long minute and then pulled back, both with suspiciously moist eyes.  
  
Aragorn sat on the bed and patted the mattress next to him. "You must tell me how all this came about! I want to know all about your stay in the White City!"  
  
Elrond, slowly unveiling his face, wanted to talk all night, but knowing both he and his son had long hard days ahead of them, decided the tale could be saved for another time, when things were not so perilous.  
  
Laughing at the light of eagerness in Aragorn's eyes, just as they had when he was a small boy and wanted to hear yet one more story of the Second Age before bed, Elrond sat next to his son and turned to him. Catching his son's attention and focusing his power, Elrond's gaze grew more intense and Aragorn blinked rapidly, mouth slightly opened and this time, when Elrond brought a hand to his face and touched him gently between the eyes, he slumped boneless back on the mattress with a sigh.  
  
Elrond, his face softened by love, pulled his sons legs back on the bed, covered him up and dropped a kiss on his brow.  
  
"A worthy man you are, my Estel, but your father still has a few tricks up his sleeve! Sleep well!"  
  
Elrond returned to his place on the floor in the outer room and was soon asleep himself.  
  
  
  
The next morning when Aragorn awoke, he leapt out of bed to make sure he had not dreamed last night. Rushing to the tent flap, he yanked it opened to find his father sitting quietly at the table, slicing the apple left from the night before.  
  
Raising an eyebrow in question, Elrond said calmly, "Yes my son? Oversleep? I have taken the liberty of ordering breakfast for us both."  
  
"Of course Ada, thank you. I shall be out in a moment."  
  
Aragorn went back into his room and got dressed and in spite of himself, he rushed, afraid he would come out and still find Elrond's presence a dream.  
  
But once again, the elf lord sat at his plain wooden table, eating the last of the apple.  
  
At that moment, a young soldier came in carrying a tray with two wooden bowls of hot cereal, more apples and hot tea. With a quick bow to the occupants, he left.  
  
Unable to help himself, Aragorn grinned from ear to ear as he sat opposite his father and helped himself to one of the bowls of cereal.  
  
"I do not remember what we talked about last night Ada. Weren't you going to tell me about life in the White City?"  
  
"Perhaps Estel we should save a recounting of my adventures for another time." He looked at his son, his expression serious. "We have an epidemic to deal with right now."  
  
"Of course, you're right." He held his tea mug with both hands and blowing on it he looked at his father, still smiling. "But do not think I shall forget!"  
  
"Not for a moment, my son."  
  
Aragorn feeling more happy than he had, since well, he didn't know when finished his breakfast quickly.  
  
Before they left the tent, Elrond covered his face in his customary manner. "You must remember not call me "father" or "Ada" please. As I shall remember not to call you Estel.my lord."  
  
"As you wish.Master Dolengil." and the two laughed as they went through the camp towards their horses.  
  
Pausing by the injured soldier who was going to go through dispatches for Aragorn, he called out cheerily "Feman, are you awake?"  
  
"Yes, my lord." The soldier limped to the entrance to the tent and bowed slightly to the two standing there. "Do you need me to get the dispatches?"  
  
"Go ahead with them, Feman. I need to go to Minas Tirith with Master Dolengil here and see to a problem there. I shall probably be gone most of the day. If anything needs my immediate attention, and it is at all possible, send to me at the palace. All right? Otherwise Prince Legolas can take care of it. We will use this quiet to recoup."  
  
"Yes my lord."  
  
Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder gently and the two moved on towards the picket lines to retrieve their horses. 


	8. Aragorn and Elrond

The orc skirmishes had reached a lull, which worried Aragorn and his lieutenants. There had been no large offensive for two whole days, just small sorties.  
  
But still, the two silent riders picked their way across the battlefield cautiously, avoiding the high ground whenever necessary.  
  
They were just topping a rise, when an unearthly screech was heard! As the two instinctively crouched on their saddles at the sound of the speeding Winged Ringwraith about his Master's business, high above them both horses reared and hopped sideways, throwing their riders. Aragorn found himself flung onto the putrefying body of a dead horse and quickly rolled off, retching.  
  
Elrond unfortunately fell off into a pile of battle debris and was pierced through the side by a Gondorian pikestaff. He cried out in pain and slumped on his side.  
  
"Ada! Ada!" Aragorn, still gagging on the smell of the dead horse, stumbled to his father's side.  
  
"I-I do not think it is too serious son. It did not hit any vital organs." Elrond hissed and blanched with pain as he tried to sit up.  
  
"It is serious enough! Lie still Ada. Do not move. Let me look." Taking an Elven knife from his side, he carefully slit the cloth of the healer's robe around the blade.  
  
"At least it is not an orc blade and poisoned." Aragorn, eyes intense, scrutinized the wound. His expression grim, he rolled his father over and then quickly, cleanly he pulled out the broken pikestaff.  
  
Groaning, his father slumped beneath his hands. Aragorn, turning around quickly saw that his horse had not run off completely but stood with lowered head a few yards away. Whistling to the animal, it threw its head up and ambled slowly over, delicately avoiding the detritus scattered about.  
  
Using his knife again, he cut cloth from the edge of his father's robes to use as a makeshift bandage.  
  
Elrond stirred as Aragorn go him to sit up. "Ada, I need you to stand so we can get on my horse and get back to the city. I am afraid your gelding has run off."  
  
Nodding, Elrond stood with a grunt, his face pale and sweating. Aragorn lifted his father as high as he could and Elrond threw his leg over the saddle and then fell forward over the pommel, half-fainting. Aragorn quickly vaulted behind his father and whispering tersely in his father's ear as he eased him back against his chest. "Hang on Ada. I will get you to the White City as fast as I can."  
  
"Than-Thank you Estel."  
  
Grateful his father was still conscious, Aragorn spurred the horse into an immediate gallop, sacrificing comfort for speed.  
  
But Elrond winced as the horse took off and then shortly, with a sigh, passed out in Aragorn's arms.  
  
"Faster Rhana! This is my father you carry!"  
  
A half hour later, Aragorn and his precious burden were racing through the hot streets of Minas Tirith for the Halls of Healing.  
  
There was a great deal of consternation when he showed up and carefully dismounted. Calling for help, he instantly got two orderlies to come and take his father into a private examining room.  
  
Following them in, Aragorn was instantly joined by the healer on call, Master Parnil, who efficiently shooed out the curious as Elrond was laid down on the cloth-covered table and the pillow adjusted under his head.  
  
"Master Parnil is it? I need some antiseptic tinctures and a suturing kit, and-"  
  
"And some water please. Es-my lord." Elrond asked in a whisper, his eyes half-open.  
  
"Of course!" Turning to the linen maid, who hovered nearby, as Master Parnil began to undo the rough bandage Aragorn had made out on the battlefield, Aragorn indicated she needed to bring water, an orderly and syrup of poppy.  
  
"My lord, I will be happy to take over now..."  
  
Aragorn smiled at the healer and said, "Master Dolengil will be my patient this time."  
  
Master Parnil gave him a look of confusion but bowed to his wishes and left to get the supplies Aragorn requested.  
  
Aragorn, brushed back his fathers disheveled hair and whispered. "You don't mind Ada do you? I would rather do this for you than have a stranger touch you. After all this time, I think it is my turn to treat you, instead of the opposite."  
  
"Fine my......my lord." Elrond smiled tiredly. "Mind you remember my lessons, especially when suturing, remember to...."  
  
Aragorn placed his fingers on his father's lips. "Shhh. All will be well, you'll see. I remember everything, after all I had the best teacher in all of Middle Earth."  
  
When the linen maid returned with the items he requested, he had the linen maid and the orderly carefully undress his father while he expertly measured the syrup of poppy, stirring it into the water. Lifting his father's head he brought the goblet to his lips and got him to drink it down.  
  
Elrond made a face and looked at his son frowning. "A little heavy with the syrup, my lord."  
  
"I imagine a good sleep is what you need now.....Master." Aragorn, smiling down as the last of the robes were pulled off his father's slender form, put a hand on the elf's shoulder.  
  
The orderly left with the robes and the linen maid went to get a blanket. While they were alone, Aragorn watched his father slowly succumb to the drug, but before his eyes fluttered closed, he bent and swiftly kissed him on the brow. "Sleep well Ada."  
  
"I....will son. I am in good hands." His head rolled to the side with a small sigh. Turning to see that the linen maid had laid out what he needed on a small table next to him, Aragorn washed his hands in the steaming water provided and got to work.  
  
Finishing the suturing, Aragorn bound his father's side with linen. Making sure Elrond was resting comfortably he told the linen maid Alanath he had business to attend to with the Steward of Gondor.  
  
Retrieving his horse he mounted and quickly made his way up the hill to the Steward's quarters in the palace.  
  
By the time he reached the inner courtyard, the heat had lathered his horse and made sweat trickle down his back.  
  
Throwing his reins to a waiting stable boy, Aragorn strode in the cooler hallways, dodging people as he moved quickly and ignoring for the most part their polite bows.  
  
But when he crossed paths with Master Berem, just outside the doors of the Steward's office, he paused.  
  
"Ah, Master Berem. You save me the trouble of sending for you. Come, I have business with the Steward and it concerns you as well."  
  
"As you will," the officious healer said as he followed Aragorn into the anteroom outside the Steward's inner sanctum.  
  
Denethor looked up from a scroll unrolled before him, a hand to his forehead. Aragorn noted he looked tired and drawn if not getting enough sleep.  
  
"My lord Denethor." Aragorn bowed, as did Berem. "I have an important issue to discuss with you."  
  
"If it concerns the lull in battle Lord Aragorn, my sources say Sauron is just regrouping for a large offensive and---"  
  
"Though that is a great concern, it is not why I am here."  
  
Denethor frowned and leaned back in his chair. "Then what is it, Lord Aragorn?"  
  
"It is my opinion, and several of the healers in the Halls of Healing that there is an epidemic on the rise here in the city and it needs to be dealt with right away before it begins to decimate the population."  
  
Master Berem stepped from around Aragorn and smiled. "I on the other hand, do not agree with his lordship's diagnosis of the situation. I believe this is just congestion brought on by the unusual warm weather we are having."  
  
Aragorn looked at Master Berem. "The other healers believe it is an epidemic and needs to be dealt with immediately. They see these patients come in and perhaps, are more a bit more close to the situation than you are Master Berem. After all, are your offices not across the courtyard from the treatment rooms?"  
  
Master Berem waved away Aragorn's comments. "Are you insinuating that mere distance keeps me uninformed....my lord?"  
  
He went and looked Aragorn straight in the face. "I am still Head of the Houses you upstart hedgerow---"  
  
Aragorn merely looked at Berem calmly.  
  
The Steward stood up and said tiredly, "That will be quite enough Master Berem, Lord Aragorn. Give me a moment."  
  
The two men stepped a way with a bow and went out, pointedly ignoring each other. As Master Berem stepped into the stuffy stone hallway, he coughed dryly a few times, turning from Aragorn. The dust! He went down the hall from the Dunadan, and stepped into an alcove where he allowed himself to cough harder.  
  
Aragorn shook his head at the hidden healer.  
  
In a few minutes, as Aragorn leaned against the cool stone wall, thinking of his father, Denethor indicated the two could return. Aragorn waited to allow the older healer entry first and noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Frowning slightly, he followed Berem into the office.  
  
Once before Denethor's desk, the Steward looked up at them resignedly. "The last thing I need gentlemen, on top of dealing with a population already nervous and on edge with the war, is the added burden of an epidemic. Even if Lord Aragorn is incorrect---and I am not saying he is-the appearance of doing something positive would raise morale in the city."  
  
He leaned back against the high carved back of his chair. "And beside, may well prevent an actual epidemic."  
  
Master Berem had strolled away from Denethor and was looking out the window into the slightly desiccated garden where a fountain trickled half- heartedly and a few pigeons splashed in the tepid water.  
  
Aragorn leaned silently on the Steward's desk, eyes closed.  
  
The older man stood. "My lord, Master Berem. I agree with Lord Aragorn and the other healers. It behooves us to make an effort to stop this disease whatever its source. My lord, what do you require?"  
  
" I have discussed this with Master Dolengil---"  
  
"The "foreign" healer, not a native Gondorian, my lord."  
  
"An excellent healer Lord Denethor and well-versed in battlefield conditions." Aragorn snapped back, wearying of Berem's entrenched pig- headedness.  
  
"And what wars would those be Lord Argaorn? We haven't had any wars of any duration for hundreds of years."  
  
Aragorn quickly swallowed his smile. "Wars in the far east, m'lord. He has proved his abilities to me beyond a shadow of a doubt. But it was not only his expert opinion, but others in the Halls of Healing."  
  
"Fine, I concur. What do you need form me?"  
  
"We need to separate the ill form the wounded and I think the formal ballroom in the palace would provide an excellent place. It is large enough, it has a perfect outside egress through the garden outside the southern windows."  
  
Denethor looked up with a slight frown. "You would use the palace for such a purpose?"  
  
"Can you think of any better use for the palace at the moment. It stands empty."  
  
Denethor, about to come forth with several reasons to say no, looked up in consternation, for in the doorway stood Dolengil, leaning with one hand against the door jam and looking a little pale.  
  
Aragorn leapt to his father's side, almost calling him by name. "Master Dolengil! You should be in bed! That pikestaff went right through your side!"  
  
"I shall heal fine Lord Aragorn. I owe my ability to rise from bed to your fine healing skills."  
  
Aragorn couldn't help grinning. "I had a very good teacher!"  
  
Dolengil's eyes glowed with humor in return. He came in carefully and stood before the Steward, weaving only slightly. Aragorn stood closely at his back, while Master Berem just gaped at the healer.  
  
"This illness is on the rise. There were 20 new patients this morning. We have only a few empty pallets. I and the other healers have been working extra shifts making medicines to keep up with the demand. And we are afraid it will not be enough without better preventative measures."  
  
Master Dolengil took a deep breath, bringing a hand to his side, a motion Aragorn did not miss.  
  
"My lord Denethor, I wanted to add my voice to Lord Aragorn's plea. It is very critical. The formal ballroom would be a vast help."  
  
Feeling more anxious about his father, Aragorn had had enough. Wanting to carry him back to his bed, he knew it was not possible.  
  
"My lord Steward," Aragorn bowed and took his father by the elbow. "I will see my-Master Dolengil to his bed, from which he should not have risen! I would appreciate it if you would put my request in writing to the Master of the House. We will also need fresh supplies and more pallets."  
  
Aragorn carefully took his father to the door, passing Master Berem who turned away to cover another cough. Aragorn allowed himself a small smile. "Master Berem." He bowed to the slightly aggrieved healer, who bowed curtly in return. "I hope I have your support in this."  
  
"As you will Lord Aragorn." The healer turned without another word and stalked out of the room, coughing not caring if he was heard or not. He planned to write a formal complaint, this upstart healer and this wet behind the ears...kingling! 


	9. All's well?

Once outside the Steward's office and in the street, Aragorn stopped his father. "Ada." He whispered, "You noble fool! You did not need to do this! You could burst your sutures!" Aragorn looked around and spied a cart driver in conversation with a flower seller  
  
Coming up to the driver, he said, "Sir my father needs to get to the Halls of Healing. He is injured and I do not want his condition to worsen any further.'  
  
The cart driver turned at Aragorn's approach and stared at the man at his side. Nodding, the driver hopped down from his seat and help Aragorn get the elf lord situated.  
  
As the driver clucked to his mare, Elrond said quietly, "Thank you my son, I am a little tired."  
  
"Oh Ada!" Aragorn pulled is father against him. "Please promise me you will stay in bed. I will get the other healers to oversee the move."  
  
He undid the veil around his father's face and felt his skin. Though a bit clammy, he did not feel any heat, signaling a fever. He father said nothing, but leaned against Aragorn.  
  
A few minutes later, they reached the Halls of Healing. The minute the cart stopped, Aragorn carefully leaned his father against the cart side and then ran into the Halls to find an orderly to help him.  
  
When they returned to the cart, his father had his eyes closed and he had slumped to the side. Anxious, Aragorn and the orderly quickly returned him to his private room and lay him back in the bed ad at Aragorn's direction, carefully undressed the healer. Thanking the orderly, Aragorn then un- bandaged his father and inspected his sutures. They had held, but the wound had begun to bleed. Getting a linen maid to fetch hot water, salve and fresh bandages, he carefully redressed the wound. Lifting up his limp form, he put a clean sleeping tunic on him and lay him back, pulling up the light blanket.  
  
Brushing his father's hair off his face, he watched him sleep for a moment, then bent and kissed him on the brow.  
  
As he went out into the main Hall to see the progress of the epidemic, he met Master Parnil with an armload of linen.  
  
"Lord Aragorn!! I have you to thank I suspect, and perhaps Master Dolengil! We have just received notice we are to move the sick up to the palace so they can be isolated! Thanks my lord! I am sure this will be a boon in keeping the sickness from spreading!"  
  
"Well, I am glad to see Master Berem can act quickly when he needs to! And Master Dolengil was instrumental in getting me involved in this. I will be very grateful if you see to his care, as I must return to my men beyond the walls. Will you have enough able bodies to help with the move?"  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact, Calla, a linen maid here, has sent word to her friends in the lower city to bring carts and men. The first group will probably be here shortly."  
  
"I am relieved we will be able to nip this before it grows too far! If time and war permits, I will hope to return tomorrow to see how the evacuation has gone." He put a hand on the healer's shoulder. "Good luck, and please see to Master Dolengil, he tends to be rather pigheaded sometimes!"  
  
"I will my lord! And thanks again for your help!" Parnil bowed slightly over his armload of linen and swept by Aragorn.  
  
Before leaving the Halls, Aragorn checked in on Elrond one more time. He lay sleeping under a light blanket and his pulse felt smooth and even. Wishing he had control of the healing energy his father had, he contented himself with another quick kiss on the brow and a squeeze of his father's limp hand that lay on his chest.  
  
"Sleep well Ada! And do not tax yourself!"  
  
Aragorn turned and left, anxious to return to the field and the next skirmish from the Dark Lord.  
  
  
  
Later that evening, most of the sick had been taken to the palace and only a few moans from the wounded sounded in the main hall.  
  
Elrond awoke to find his room lit by a solitary candle at his bedside. He felt much better and smiled as he felt the bandage wrapped around his side. His son was a good healer.  
  
Taking a deep breath he rose and fighting only a little vertigo, stood getting his bearings. He needed to see what was happening with the epidemic. Had Master Berem indeed started the evacuation? Looking down ruefully at the sleeping tunic he wore, he slipped out of his room and went into the main Hall. It was thankfully only a third full, and quickly assessing those that lay there, Elrond determined they were soldiers who had been brought in a few days ago. Elrond, also not sanguine about the lull in battle, was glad to see that at least the sick had been winnowed out from the injured.  
  
Calla, who had recovered from her bout of illness, came out of the shadows to speak to the healer. "Master Dolengil, let me get you a robe! Should you be up?"  
  
"Calla! Oh, a robe is not necessary right now. I am mending well. Lord Aragorn made a bigger fuss than necessary over my wound. I shall be fine in a few days." Elrond approached the linen maid, looking at her clinically. "Are you certain you should be up?" He lay a hand on her forehead and was relieved to feel it was cool.  
  
"I am a little weak, but the worst of it is over, I think. And I have been good about taking my medicine." She smiled at him. "It does go down better with a little honey!'  
  
Elrond laughed, "I have heard that complaint before! As long as it works..."  
  
Calla nodded. "They have removed those suspected of being sick with the city fever up to the palace." Calla chuckled as she walked slowly through the sleeping men. "Master Berem was not happy and spent a lot of time getting in the way, I heard."  
  
"'City fever?'" Is that what they are calling it? It is as good a name as any I suppose."  
  
"Well, they needed a name to tell it apart from other stomach complaints. I see we are here back at your room, Master Dolengil. Perhaps you should return to your slumbers?"  
  
"And yourself Calla?" She laughed and smiled up at the tall healer. "Of course. I am feeling a bit tired and all seems quiet now. I can get a little sleep in the main examining room on the bench. I have done it many times."  
  
"All right then." He put a hand on her shoulder his eyes warm as he looked down at her. "Do you ever think of pursuing a career as a healer? You have the most important skill of all: compassion. You would do very well."  
  
She ducked her head and put a hand on his elbow. "Thank you Master. I have thought of it, but it is a little beyond my means at the moment."  
  
"I shall speak to Master Parnil tomorrow, I am sure he can set you on the correct path. And I do not think the cost will prove a hindrance, either."  
  
Smiling at what she assumed were kind words meant to soothe her, she squeezed his elbow and turned towards the main examining room.  
  
Elrond watched her a moment and finding himself assailed by a wave of weakness gratefully returned to his bed and slept long and deep.  
  
The next afternoon, Elrond was resting with the remains of his midday meal in the dining hall with Master Parnil and discussing Calla's future, when an orderly rushed in and said, "Sorry to disturb you Masters, but there is incoming wounded! The orcs and wargs have returned with an attack! From two flanks!'  
  
Both healers stood and went across the courtyard to the Halls. Master Parnil looked at his colleague narrowly. "Are you sure you are up to this? We have a full complement of healers right now."  
  
"Helping where I am needed always improves my outlook, Master Parnil." He paused a moment, to let two orderlies run past to fling open the gates wider to allow for carts. "I promise, if it gets to be too much, I shall rest."  
  
Master Parnil put a hand on his shoulder. "As long as you give me your word."  
  
"I do! Let us see to the wounded!"  
  
And the two healers quickly entered the Halls.  
  
  
  
It was late in the evening and the influx of patients had slowed down.  
  
Elrond, having seen to the patients in his care, sat along the back wall in the shadows, resting. He hated to admit it, but he knew he would need to sleep for a few hours to regain his strength.  
  
Sighing, he leaned his head against the cool stone, his thoughts drifting towards Aragorn, hoping that he had faced this new onslaught without injury. He smiled. He would undoubtedly be issuing orders from his pallet, if he were!  
  
Rising slowly, he was just about to go into the supply room when he faintly heard the street door ring. The linen maid on duty was across the room, settling a young soldier, so Elrond made his way to the front.  
  
Entering the main examining room, he carefully opened the door and saw a figure in a cloak, leaning against the doorframe, coughing hard. Placing an arm around the person, Elrond gently guided them onto a bench nearby. Pulling back the hood, Elrond could not help but swallow a smile: it was Master Berem and he had obviously caught a case of the "city fever."  
  
Master Berem, still bent over by his coughing, did not look up as Elrond guided the healer into the smaller room used to examine the sick patients (versus the wounded) and rang a bell to signal the carter outside he had another to take to the palace.  
  
Finally, as Elrond began his careful examination, Master Berem looked, up, eyes streaming from coughing and blanched as he stared a moment into the grey eyes of the elf.  
  
"I-I..Master Dolengil." He coughed again, his throat sore and rough. "I have run out of cough syrup.this is just a cold," He coughed again, inadvertently groaning in pain.  
  
Elrond put a hand to the man's forehead and then felt the glands in his throat. Lifting a nearby lantern he got the healer to open his mouth wide so he could inspect his throat.  
  
"Have you been nauseous Master Berem?"  
  
"Just-just tonight." He bent over again.  
  
"Tonight? How long have you been ill?" Elrond placed a hand on the older man's shoulder.  
  
"A week, I think." Elrond arched an eyebrow at this admission. But really, was not all that surprised, considering with whom he was dealing.  
  
"I am afraid Master, you have caught that insidious illness spreading through Minas Tirith. I believe it has now been called simply "city fever."  
  
Master Berem slumped under Elrond's scrutiny and said in a whisper, "You were right. Go ahead and gloat Master Dolengil. You were right, this IS an epidemic."  
  
Elrond stood silent a moment as it was not in his nature to.....gloat.  
  
Putting a hand under the healer's elbow he got him to stand. "Come, let me make you comfortable in the cart outside. It will take you up to the palace."  
  
He took the shivering man outside and helped him get into the cart, where he wrapped him in a clean blanket folded neatly inside.  
  
"I shall get you something soothing for your throat." Quickly going to the supply room, Elrond measured out some of the syrup he and the other healers had worked late hours to produce. Smiling slightly as he brought the goblet out to Master Berem, he held it out.  
  
About to take it, the healer bent over double with another bout of coughing. Waiting until it passed, Elrond put a hand behind the man's neck and brought the goblet to his lips, carefully regulating the amount the healer swallowed. Soon the goblet was empty, and Elrond lay Berem's head back gently against the cart side.  
  
"I am sorry for this Master Berem. But rest assured they will take good care of you up at the palace. Thanks to your swift response to Lord Aragorn's requests."  
  
The healer looked at Elrond a long moment, about to say something sarcastic. But, he realized suddenly, the elf lord was being sincere.  
  
Closing his eyes tiredly, Berem nodded.  
  
Just before the carter clucked to his horse, Berem lay a hand on Elrond's arm.  
  
"I.well, thank you Master Dolengil. I do not know what we would have done without you here."  
  
Elrond, smiling under his veil, bowed slightly and then paused a moment. It looked as if sleep had eluded Master Berem for many nights running now. Quickly, he leaned forward and lay a hand on the healer's forehead who slumped to the side unconscious. Adjusting him so would be comfortable, he lifted his hand to the carter to drive on.  
  
As Elrond enter the Halls proper, Calla came up to him with a broad smile.  
  
"I start lessons in herbology next week Master Dolengil!! And Master Sarin says I have you to thank for it!" She threw his arms around him.  
  
Elrond only winced a little and patted her back. "I am glad Calla. I think you will make an excellent healer!" Elrond walked with the linen maid towards the supply room. "But who will replace you as linen maid?"  
  
Calla smiled delightedly, and instead of the two entering the supply room, Calla led the healer to the linen room where a lone woman with a crutch was carefully folding clean sheets. She stumbled a little as she turned quickly, and Calla reached out to help her.  
  
"Good evening, Master Dolengil!"  
  
"Dahanna! What a pleasant surprise! Sit a moment and let me look at your leg."  
  
Dahanna nodded, still smiling and Calla helped her to a chair, holding her crutch.  
  
Elrond looked at the closed incision carefully and after manipulating the muscle gently to make sure there were no abscesses, placed a hand on it a moment to give the leg a little healing energy. Dahanna would need her strength. "Your leg is coming along well Dahanna. But do not hesitate to rest if you need to. It is usually quiet enough in the mid-watches of the night."  
  
"Yes Master Dolengil, I will. I am looking forward to working here!"  
  
Calla hugged her friend. "I am so glad you decided to join me! We can finally work together!!"  
  
"Yes. And if nothing else, it is certainly cleaner here!"  
  
All three laughed and with a pat on Dahanna shoulders, Elrond left the two women.  
  
All had indeed, cleaned up well! 


End file.
